


the banker

by softsocky



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Fluff, I hate myself for this, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Swearing, as always this is unedited, i wrote this in two days and is one of the longest fanfics ive ever done, its weird and probably doesnt make sense but w/e, ok so first of all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 23:24:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12804639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softsocky/pseuds/softsocky
Summary: Bin might be the worst petty thief there is. Or maybe Dongmin just doesn’t care if his things get stolen. Either way, Bin doesn’t know what to do when Dongmin offers him a piece of cake and a hot chocolate instead of calling the police.





	the banker

**Author's Note:**

> ok so....................

 

 

 _He’s drooling,_ Minhyuk thought. _He’s in public, and he’s actually drooling._

Minhyuk followed his best friend’s eyes, rolling them when he saw what had gained his attention. It was _The Banker_.

He can’t even remember when this weird infatuation had even started, but he assumes it was around eight months ago, when Bin had just started to lease the studio across the road from the National Bank. He’d actually been the one to point the studio room out to Bin. Although smaller than he originally wanted, it was in a prime location – perfect for an upcoming artist like Bin. He was clay carver, sculpting live-action silhouettes to an uncanny resemblance. Minhyuk had found himself, over the years, in many of his sculptures, and although he liked to tease him for his choice of visual art, he knew first-hand how much time and effort went into each piece.

They had met during art school, Bin halfway through his studies already when he spotted Minhyuk outside of the dance studio, and instantly asked him to be his next project. Short on friends and generally unable to say no to the boy’s pleading eyes, Minhyuk found himself sculpted from clay, and attached to Bin’s hip ever since.

Bin had graduated three years ago, and Minhyuk had taken his dancing further, constantly in classes with the academy to further his skills. At twenty-two, Minhyuk thinks Bin has done pretty well. He’d been chosen on two accounts to make sculptures for two highly regarded political figures who had passed on earlier in the year, of which he had accepted nervously and graciously, flogging himself almost to death to do them justice. He’d had an expedition at the museum, too, where Minhyuk had laughed at the blown-up image of his best friend hanging from the ceiling. Bin also made smaller sculptures – things that were more likely to sit on your coffee table, and not take up half the room. Being an artist, Minhyuk himself knew that money was sometimes scarce, and work very much dependent on clients – so Bin took advantage of the local markets and boutique stores, and sold his art for a little extra cash.

The studio was tucked between a coffee shop and a book store, on a relatively busy street on the outskirts of the city. The sort of place one might call _trendy_ , it was narrow streets and markets and street food could be smelt in all directions. The rent of the place was surprisingly cheap, so the competition for the storefront was high. Minhyuk had been there when he saw the pile of application forms that had already been handed in to the realtor, and that night, he had to comfort a sobbing Bin who was so sure he’d never find the perfect place.

He got the place though, because of _course_ he did. He was Moon _Fucking_ Bin, and he worked hard, and had the awards and the materials to show for it. You’d never catch Minhyuk saying it out loud, but Bin deserved the world – or maybe, the world deserved Bin.

They were sitting in the café, Bin’s caramel macchiato completely forgotten about. Minhyuk sighed, reached over, and closed his mouth. It was startling enough to Bin that it snapped him out of his daze.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, wiping the drool of his chin. Minhyuk watched on in disgust. “I zoned out.”

“Yeah,” Minhyuk said, glancing to the bank across the street. The road was so narrow that you could see straight into the bank itself, and almost have a front-row view of _The Banker._ Right now, he was standing behind the counter, stapling some documents together.

“Yeah,” he mumbled again, taking a mouthful of his coffee. “I noticed.”

 

Bin wasn’t shy, per se, but he wasn’t outgoing either. Having unpacked his last box of materials into his studio, he went next door to the café to grab some lunch. His eyes roamed aimlessly, but stopped – along with the rest of his moving body – on the man in the bank across the road. Someone walking behind him ran into him, not expecting the sudden stop, muttering out a ‘ _asshole’_ that Bin paid no mind to. He was far too busy staring at the banker, later to be known as _The Banker_ to Minhyuk and him.

He was _gorgeous._

His hair was black and unruly, and his smile was giving Bin heart palpitations. Even from this distance, Bin could tell his pinks were unfairly pink, skin unbelievably clear. “What the _fuck_ ,” he says, mainly to himself, but also to the universe. A woman quickly hurries by him, glancing at him like he may jump her. The Banker had finished assisting the customer, and was now left to focus intently on something on his computer screen. A tall blonde co-worker came up behind him, said something in his ear, causing him to laugh.

“ _Shit_ ,” he says, digging out his phone. He had to tell Minhyuk.

 

And so, he ended up here. Minhyuk by his side, as always, and, as usual, being the least helpful person available to him.

“Seriously, I don’t understand what the problem is. Just go over there and ask if you can suck his dick.”

Bin hummed around the lip of his mug. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re right. That would totally work.”

Minhyuk shrugged. “Don’t see why not. He looks pretty strung out. His boss would probably thank you.”

Bin sunk low into his seat, grumbling under his breath. “What was that?” Minhyuk pushed.

Bin huffed. “I _said_ , I don’t _want_ his boss knowing.”

“Oh, my God! Bin! Stop this!” Minhyuk put his mug down, and threw his hands up in front of him, as if to stop traffic. “I was joking.” He clapped in between each word, trying to emphasise his words but only pissing Bin off more. “That should _not_ make you get all protective over a guy you don’t even know the name of!”

“How’s that _my_ fault?”

“Well it _clearly_ isn’t _mine!”_

Bin turned away from him harshly, watching The Banker serve the next customer. _He had such small hands,_ Bin noted, but then realised he would too if someone saw him from that distance. _Idiot._

“Bin, I don’t say this a lot.”

Bin knew that tone. He _hated_ that tone. “No, don’t do it.”

Rocky pressed his lips together and shrugged. “You’ve left me no choice.”

“Hyuk, no—”

“Moon Bin I love you.”

“Argh!” Bin spat out, shaking his head.

“I love you, and I _hate_ seeing you like this! I’ve never seen you get this worked up about anyone, _ever_ , except maybe the one-time you had that weird crush on MJ when you first met.”

“I thought we agreed to never talk about that.”

“Bin, you need help. Help in the form of leaving this café for once, and going over there, and sucking that man’s dick.”

A lady on the table beside them threw a look of disgust their way at Minhyuk’s crass words. He smiled apologetically at her, but then turned back to Bin. “Look, you know I mean well. And you know I’m right.”

But Bin had zoned out again, and Minhyuk knew why. It was one thirty: The Banker’s lunch break. Bin had figured out that the man took the same lunch break every day – some days, he’d spend it out on the bench, others, he’d come across to the coffee shop for a takeaway. This was one of those days.

The weather was warm out, so when The Banker stepped outside, he pulled of his suit jacket. Minhyuk watched Bin’s Adams apple bob as he swallowed harshly. He rolled his eyes at the way Bin overdramatised it all. He hurried across the street, and even with Minhyuk’s back to the window, he could sense the moment he entered the room. Bin’s posture went from relaxed to as stiff as his sculptures, and Minhyuk was scowling at Bin the entire time the man ordered his coffee and lunch. He was shamelessly checking him out, and had the man ever caught him doing it, Bin would be so dumbfounded that he was even being spoken to, he wouldn’t even remember speaking was a thing he could do.

By the time he had gotten his order and left to cross the street again, there was another trail of drool on Bin’s chin. Minhyuk didn’t bother shutting his jaw this time.

“I take back what I said earlier,” he said, even though Bin clearly wasn’t listening, but watching the Banker’s ass as he crossed back over the road instead. “This is _way_ worse than the thing with MJ.”

 

He wasn’t sure what made him do it. Duck under his workbench and pretend he wasn’t in-shop, that is.

He was drawing up a plan for his next sculpture, preparing for a showcase of his works in the next few months. He had left it a little late, and he could feel the pressure building in the front of his head, in the small of his back, a constant reminder that he wasn’t eating or sleeping well. He was struggling to get the expression on the projects face right when he saw a familiar figure out the corner of his eye. Minhyuk was waving through the window, and Bin nodded at him, telling him it was open. But Minhyuk kept waving, then surreptitiously gestured with his head towards the bank. The Banker had left the building – it was 1:30. He was probably going to the coffee shop for lunch today, but no, wait. He went there yesterday, and he never went twice in a row. While Bin watched him cross the road, eyes fixed on the direction of his studio, it only left two options. One, he was going to the book store next door, but he was to be seriously disappointed as it was always closed on Wednesday’s; or he was coming his studio.

And that would not do.

Not with this outfit, and this hair, and _these_ eyebrows.

Minhyuk had miraculously disappeared by the time The Banker had peered in through the glass, and knocked on the door; as had Bin, tucked safely out of view under his desk, willing the beautiful man to come back another day, when he was looking more human than monster.

 

That night, over dinner, Minhyuk could sense that Bin was itching to ask him something. It was unusual for Bin to be quiet. Normally, he had to fight to get a word in, but tonight, something was bothering his best friend.

Putting down his wine glass, and scrunching up his napkin, he asked, “what’s up your ass tonight?” Bin didn’t react, so Minhyuk knew something was wrong. “I mean, I know it’s not The Banker, but something’s got you bothered.”

No reaction. _Very_ wrong, then. Minhyuk kicked his shin under the table.

“Hey!” He yelped out.

Minhyuk slapped his hand down on the table. “Talk to me, brother!”

Bin shifted his eyes from the table, to the floor, to his plate, and then back to Rocky. “You’re hot, right?”

Minhyuk sipped his wine, not liking where this was going. “Um,” he mumbled.

Bin shook his head, “it doesn’t matter. Don’t worry, I’m being silly.”

“Bin, you can’t use that excuse anymore. You’re always silly. C’mon, spill it.”

Bin shrugged, and if he didn’t look so sad, Minhyuk would have called him pathetic. “It’s just, y’know. You’re a really attractive guy, like _bloody_ hot. I’d kill for your cheekbones and that sultry look you can pull off.” Minhyuk’s face had contorted into a strange expression, caught between a double-chin and a frown. “And you’re so _confident_. Like, if you were fantasising about the guy in the bank, you’d have no trouble going over there and sucking his dick.”

Minhyuk sighed, knowing what he meant. He was confident, but only because he had taught himself to be. Whilst Bin’s spotlight was on his artwork, Minhyuk’s spotlight was on _him_. Any slip or fall or stumble, or any incorrect move, was instantly noticed. It didn’t mean his art was any harder than Bin’s, but no means, it just meant Minhyuk’s skin had to be a little bit thicker. Bin was sensitive, more so than other guys his age, and he cried at stupid movies and wasn’t ashamed of his feelings. But when it came to his appearance? That was something Bin thought very low of. He knew, to an extent, that he was handsome. But he’d compare himself to everyone else, the way all people do, and he’d look at their best qualities and compare them to his _worst_ qualities (which, if you were to ask Minhyuk in private, was _none)._

“Binnie,” he said softly. “Do you even _want_ to suck his dick?”

The boy in question blushed. “Well, _no.”_ Minhyuk raised his eyebrows. “Yes? No. I mean, well, _not now?”_

“Explain.”

Bin shrugged, taking his wine again. “I mean, I would, but you’re a cold-hearted lobster who doesn’t believe in love, so why would I bother?”

“Lobster?”

“Shut up, Minhyuk.”

Minhyuk groaned. “Okay, Bin. Here I go. Take notes because I won’t repeat it. You are _so_ fucking attractive, okay? Like, boy, wow. Good work. You’ve done well. Your face? Fantastic. Ass? Even better. But guess what Bin?”

He mumbled an embarrassed “ _what_?”

“The most attractive thing about you? _Your heart.”_

They didn’t mention it for the rest of the night. They didn’t talk about the fact that when Bin had started crying from the words, that Minhyuk had cried a little along with him. They didn’t snot on each other’s shoulders, either. No way.

 

Minhyuk didn’t come for lunch the next day; it was the one day of the week where his class at the academy ran late into the afternoon, so Bin would eat alone. Being neighbours, the café had become very familiar with Bin’s face and his work, and he’d even befriended one of the baristas, Jin Jin, who was kind enough to give him next-to-nothing refills. He was behind the counter when he came in, and waved in his direction. He knew his order by now, so Bin took his usual seat by the window, with the view of the bank.

He was watching the bank when his coffee and chicken salad were put beside him. “Still pining huh?”

He hummed, “yeah. Thanks for this.”

Jin Jin winked at him. “As always, it’s my pleasure.”

Sometimes the barista would spend his breaks eating with Bin, but today he looked flustered behind the counter with the overwhelming numbers of people coming and out, so Bin knew he’d be eating alone today. It was so busy, in fact, that he almost didn’t notice the blonde who entered shop. Bin didn’t recognise him at first, but then it clicked. It was The Banker’s co-worker, the younger one who he had seen all those months ago. He’d seen him a few times since then, and Bin notices now that he had grown into his body more, like he had reached puberty a second time.

Bin quickly diverted his eyes when he saw the Blonde glance his way. Not quick enough, though, because he caught the knowing smirk on the man’s lips. Bin didn’t look over that way until he was sure he was on the other side of the road again. Then, and only then, did he bring out his phone to text to Minhyuk.

_Hey_

_just found a guy for u_

_think he’d even be able 2 defrost that heart of urs_

He got a reply within a minute

**_Bestie <3 _ **

_He hot?_

He smirked.

_Nah_

_He’s cute_

Minhyuk’s reply came at a bit of a delay, but sent Bin into a laughing fit nonetheless.

**_Bestie <3_ **

_no_

 

Minhyuk is going to kill Bin. He swears he is. He’s going to do it and he’s going to do it as soon as the boy – _Yoon Sanha_ – leaves the studio.

Bin had started cackling the moment Minhyuk had seen him crossing the street. Minhyuk could act as tough as he wanted, but as soon as he saw the too-cute-to-be-real blonde smiling into the studio’s window, Bin _knew_ he was a goner. Minhyuk had a soft spot for _cute._

When the boy in question _had_ waved through the glass, Bin was on his feet in an instant, yanking open the door in a hurried fashion. The sky was overcast, threatening rain, so he ushered the boy in without even a quick hello. Minhyuk remained motionless by his work-desk, mouth the tiniest bit ajar.

The boy shucked off his jacket, smiling around his teeth at the subtle awkwardness. “Hi,” he said, voice surprisingly delicate. “I’m Yoon Sanha.”

Minhyuk wanted to die. He really, really did. He was just going to kill Bin first. The most annoying thing Bin does to him is try to play matchmaker, and whilst he does it very rarely, when he does, he gets this _smile._ It’s like a smirk-and-coy-smile hybrid, and he’s got one on his face right now.

Sanha had a classically handsome face but had still retained some of his boyish features, with white-blonde hair styled artfully, and the most soul-searching eyes Minhyuk had ever seen.

The usually cool, calm, and collected Minhyuk found himself unable to move, let alone _speak_ to the boy. It was Bin, in the end, who had to introduce him.

“—Bin, and this poor excuse for a human being is my best friend, Park Minhyuk.”

Minhyuk could hear his words, but was having trouble processing them, because Sanha’s eyes were trailing up and down his body inquisitively.  “I like your jacket.”

Minhyuk’s brain caught up with him. “Uh,” he spluttered. His jacket was orange, and he’d only bought it yesterday. It had cost him close to 200,000 Won, and his heart tingled at the fact Sanha had liked it. _What the fuck._ “Thanks. It’s new.”

Sanha smiled, “the colour suits you.”

While Bin would give anything to see this interaction continue – especially with how dysfunctional Minhyuk looked at the compliment – he knew Minhyuk would kill him if he didn’t help out.

“So, Sanha. What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

Sanha seemed to snap out of his daze, much to Bin’s delight, and turned his attention back to the studio’s owner. “Well,” he started. “Uh, my co-worker. You might have seen him – tall, skinny? Unreasonably pretty?”

Minhyuk snorted in the corner of the room, and Bin made a mental note to punch him later. “Yeah,” he coughed. “Yeah, I think I know who you mean.”

“Well, see, he’s moving—”

“What?!”

“Aw, _shit_ ,” Minhyuk spat, dropping his head onto the workbench.

 

When the boys finally allowed Sanha to speak, they learnt that _The Banker_ was called _Dongmin_ and he wasn’t leaving Seoul, just the bank. He was moving on to a different job here in the city, and Bin felt not only his muscles relax, but his heart, too. Sanha surely suspected something (“I didn’t realise you knew each other that well. I mean, he’s mentioned you a few times but—” “He’s _mentioned_ me?”) but he didn’t mention it if he had.

He rummaged around in his coat pocket, pulling out a rumbled sheet of card. “We’re throwing him a going away party, and we want it to be _huge,_ so we’re inviting just about everyone.” He passed Bin the invitation, then winced. “Wait, that came out wrong. I didn’t mean to make it sound like you’re not important, sorry.” He swallowed, looked over to Minhyuk. “I’d love it if you could make it.”

Sanha was obviously meaning both of them, but with the way his eyes had settled directly onto Minhyuk, and completely not registering his surroundings, Bin felt confident enough to admit that he may not be needing to play matchmaker for too much longer.

 

Although Minhyuk often spent every spare moment at the studio, Bin had noticed him hanging around more. He saw the way his best friend’s eyes no longer stared at him with disappointment, but instead, watched the bank with him. It was nice, actually, knowing that he wasn’t alone in his bubble of disappointment. The man who had put him in the bubble, alone, in the first place, had now joined him, but instead of fawning over a dark-haired angel, he stared at a blonde one.

Bin knew Minhyuk well. Well enough to know that he didn’t believe in love because his parents divorced when he was young, and his first boyfriend not only broke his heart, but put it through a shredder, too. He’d had reason enough to think that love was a hoax, and he still did, but Bin had always been pushing to change that. Minhyuk had _had_ relationships since then – nothing serious whatsoever, and Minhyuk could tell himself all he wanted that he was fine with casual, but Bin knew better. Slowly, and over time, Minhyuk was beginning to wear around the edges, and the tape binding his fragile heart together was starting to loosen. He had taken quite a liking to Sanha, but told Bin it was just because _“he was hot._ ” But here he sat, coffee forgotten and cold on the coffee table, staring at the pretty blonde with no indication of ever stopping.

 

The party was in a week’s time, and much to Minhyuk’s distaste, it was _themed._ Bin lived for themed parties, because he was still a child and found dressing up thrilling. Minhyuk, however, was sixty years old inside a young adult’s body. To make matters worse, it was _food_ themed, and all Minhyuk wanted to do was curl into a ball and die. He hated being Bin’s friend sometimes. He got him involved in the _weirdest_ shit. It’s in moments like this that he wished MJ left the house more, so maybe he’d already have plans and would’ve been able to turn Bin down. 

He was lying on Bin’s workbench while he was scurrying around out back when there was a knock on the studio door. “Bin,” he yelled, not bothering to look who it was. “Door!”

There was a crash, followed by a _fuck._ His tone was pleading when he asked, “can you get it for me Hyuk?” With a groan, he shoved himself off the table and over to the door.

When he opened it, he was met with a _very_ familiar face. “Oh.” It was Dongmin. “Hello.”

Dongmin grinned sheepishly. “HI. I’m Dongmin. I work acro—”

“I know who you are.”

“Oh,” Dongmin said. “Okay. Good.”

Bin’s voice rose from the back room. “Hyuk, who is it?”

Minhyuk grinned smugly at the boy in the front of him, causing Dongmin to cock his head to the side. “It’s Dongmin!” He yelled back. There was silence, and Minhyuk counted to three before chaos ensued. There was more crashing from out back where Bin was in his supply room, preparing his newest mound of clay for his next sculpture. It was going to be his statement piece of his next expedition, although Bin had only planned part of it. He said “I’m working on it” and that “The Banker ( _Dongmin)_ was his muse.”

Minhyuk stepped aside to allow Dongmin to enter, ignoring the worried expression on his face. “Is your friend okay?” he asked, biting his lip worriedly as there was another crash, the sound of a jar smashing on the floor.

Minhyuk sighed deeply. “You know what, Dongmin? I ask myself that every day.”

Minhyuk wasn’t blind. He knew just how attractive Dongmin was, and seeing him this close up, Minhyuk wasn’t sure how Bin was going to contain himself. He loved his friend, he _did_ , but was bad at composure and there was no way he was going to be subtle. Minhyuk silently prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that his best friend wouldn’t embarrass himself any further.

Minhyuk was about to offer him a drink of some kind, knowing that Bin kept a small collection of tea out back, but Bin had already stumbled into the front. His hair was a mess, and he was wearing his sculpting clothes – old skinny jeans and a torn-up shirt from his high-school days, and his black-framed glasses perched on the end of his nose. He was red-faced and breathing heavily, and by the looks of it, unable to truly believe Dongmin was in his studio. Dongmin was still smiling, although more so now – lips spreading wider revealing perfectly straight, white teeth. Minhyuk, however, just wanted to get out of there.

“Hi,” Bin said. “I’m Moon Bin. It’s nice to finally meet you, Dongmin.”

 _What the_ fuck.

Minhyuk stared at his best friend in disbelief. The _fuck_ did he find the words? Where did all this confidence and composure come from? Normally, he’d be a spluttering mess by now, making zero sense and probably stumbling and falling over his workbench.

Bin was smiling at Dongmin with this goofy smile, and Dongmin was staring at Bin with this goofy smile. Minhyuk was no longer smiling.

“I’m Minhyuk.”

Dongmin slowly dragged his eyes away from Bin, remembering he wasn’t alone. “Right. Yes. Hello, Minhyuk.” He wringed his hands together, “sorry to bother you two—”

“You’re not bothering us.” Minhyuk cringed. Bin had no subtlety.

Dongmin flushed. “Well, I just wanted to pop by quickly and apologise, I guess?”

Bin’s eyebrows furrowed. “For what?”

“My friend Sanha paid you a visit earlier in the week?”

Minhyuk stiffened at the mention of the pretty boy’s name, and Bin smirked. “Yeah, he did. Was he not meant to?”

Dongmin shook his head. “No, it’s not that. It’s just I know he invited you to that party, and he can be pretty persistent and I didn’t want you to feel pressure to go. I just wanted you to know that you don’t have to go, really. I understand.” Dongmin said it all in one big breath. Minhyuk was impressed. “I mean, you’re very welcome to come! By all means, feel free to! I just don’t want you to feel like you _have_ to.”

This was Minhyuk’s escape. He could tell Dongmin that he actually had something on that night, and Bin would be attending alone. But Bin was his best friend, and no matter how irritating, he couldn’t let him down.

“We’ll be there,” he inputted.

Dongmin unashamedly laughed, suddenly excited. “Costumes and all?”

His eyes were glistening as they stared from him and then to Bin, and back again. Bin stared at Dongmin with the same expression, but then turned to him, too, _pleading_.

Minhyuk found himself praying to that god, again.

“Costumes and all.”

 

Bin didn’t shut up about how much prettier Dongmin was up close for the rest of the week.

 

“We look ridiculous.”

“Of course, we do,” Minhyuk said. “You’re dressed as a sushi roll. I’m a bottle of soy sauce. What did you expect?”

Bin frowned, “why couldn’t we have gone as something cute instead?”

“Cute?” Minhyuk spat. “ _Cute?_ You can’t get cuter than this shit Bin!” He stopped walking, gesturing wildly to his costume. “The word your looking for is _hot._ Why couldn’t we have gone as something _hot.”_ He started walking again, not bothering to slow down for Bin.

“Minhyuk, are you angry with me?” He pouted at his best friend, knowing he would crack.

“No, Bin, and you know I’m not. I’m just,” he started, stopped. “I’m just embarrassed.”

Bin shrugged, “I am, too. We look like idiots.”

“You’re acting like this isn’t your fault.”

“Well,” he said.

“Bin, of literally all the costumes that were available for hire, _this_ is the one _you_ chose. Don’t try blame me for this.”

“Do _I_ look cute at least?”

Minhyuk huffed. “You’re always cute, Binnie. Now c’mon, or we’ll be awkwardly late.”

 

They weren’t, it seemed, awkwardly late – and even if they were, Bin doesn’t think anyone would have noticed. The party was at what they assumed was Dongmin’s apartment. It was in a fairly large complex not far from the studio, and while it was not the newest place, it had been tastefully furnished and styled eclectically.

Bin was unbelievably nervous. His hands were shaking and eyes skittish. Minhyuk could tell, and so was sticking a tad closer to him as they made their way through the crowds in the main room. No one was familiar, although Bin assumed no one would, considering what they were wearing. Bin and Minhyuk were not, by far, the most dressed up. People had gone all-out, decked out classic food costumes – pizza, fries, tomato – to more unique costumes – a pie, rice-ball, a prawn. Bin was watching with amusement at the way Minhyuk’s scowl got deeper and deeper, and was about to comment on his sauce-lid when there was a tap on his shoulder.

“Great costume!”

It was Sanha. He was wearing…Bin didn’t know what he was wearing. “Yeah,” he laughed awkwardly. “Yours is great, too.”

Sanha smiled widely, looking down at his costume. From what Bin could tell, he was a green rectangle. Or a squiggle. It was green and long and not much else was going on that could definitively confirm what he was supposed to be.

“Are you a _bean?_ ” It was Minhyuk.

He was right. The more Bin looked, the more bean-like the green squiggle became.

Sanha nodded, “yes!” He went for a high five to Minhyuk, which he begrudgingly returned. “It’s because I’m so tall and lanky.”

“It’s cute,” Minhyuk said, and Bin raised his eyebrows. _So forward._ “Suits you then, I guess.” _So smooth._ When he saw the way Sanha blushed a deep red, contrasting with the green, he took it as his cue to leave. _Not interested, my ass._

“Right, well, I’m going to get a drink. Bye!”

He ignored Minhyuk’s yelp, and disappeared into the crowd.

 

It had been three hours. Three whole hours of Bin leaning against a wall in a quiet corner, and he hadn’t seen Minhyuk since he left him with Sanha hours ago. A few older party-goers had left, but it hadn’t dwindled down by any means. He had seen Dongmin throughout the night, but hadn’t built up enough confidence to talk to him. Since he was the host, it excused him of a costume, it seemed. If Bin weren’t so bored, he’d make a comment about him being delicious enough, and not needing a costume. It was only nearing one am, and Bin was already desperate for sleep. As much as he wanted to stick around and watch Dongmin – as usual – he could barely keep his eyes open, and the alcohol he drank freely certainly wasn’t helping.

He dug into his costume, and pulled out his phone. There were no missed calls or any texts from Minhyuk, so he was still at the party. Unless he forgot to text, which he normally never does, but that being said, he was looking hopelessly distracted by Sanha. 

 

_did u leave?_

 

He clung to the phone for five minutes, hoping he would respond. When he didn’t, he tucked it back away eyes once again watching the crowd. As always, his eyes stopped on Dongmin. Bin was starting think this crush was getting a little ridiculous. He’d barely spoken to the guy, and had only recently learnt his name. How could he be so far gone for someone who was practically a stranger? He pushed himself off the wall, and headed out towards the patio. Although only small, the patio led out into a communal garden shared with the surrounding apartment, and despite the boisterous crowd inside, very few had spilled outside into the large space.

Bin sunk himself into the grass, relishing the cold temperature of it against his hot skin through the costume. He reached behind him and fiddled with the clasps of the costume, heaving it up and off his body. Underneath, he wore a tank top and a pair of shorts, easily hidden by the costume, but worn strictly for this very reason.

One removed, he shoved the costume under his head, and flopped back down onto it.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, really. He didn’t. It was just, underneath the night sky, with a distant _thump, thump, thump_ of music and constant chatter was enough to distract the logical part of his brain, and in within minutes, he was asleep.

 

When he woke up again, it was quiet. He was in the same position, bar his head, which had rolled to the side. He was drooling, and had no doubt dreamt of Dongmin, then, though he can’t remember it.

He was a constant figure in his dreams, so he couldn’t be expected to remember all of them, but damn, he wished he did. He had a whole series of images of Dongmin in his mind that he could replay, but each time he did, he felt sick, because they weren’t _real_ , and were all this figment of his imagination which would break his heart over and over again.

He pushed himself up off the grass and into a sitting position. Glancing around him, he noticed that there was no one out in the garden, the patio lights were off, and the music no longer playing.

 _Shit_ , Bin thought. _How late_ was _it?_

He checked his phone, which told him it was 4:45. There was a text from Minhyuk.

 

**_bestie <3 _ **

yea

with sanha

 

Bin snorted, of course he was. That was sent two hours ago. God knows what they got up to, and frankly, Bin never wants to know. But he will. Minhyuk will relay it all to him later today, at a more suitable hour, probably over something greasy and a bad movie.

Bin himself was ready to go home, but he encountered a problem. The only way out of the garden was through Dongmin’s apartment. He hoped, somewhere in the apartment, people were still partying and dancing, so Bin could sneak out without anyone noticing. _Without Dongmin noticing._

The party had been an epic fail in attempt to get to know Dongmin. Sure, he had let his nerves get the best of him, but he had partly hoped Dongmin would have spotted him and came up to him. But he supposes that wouldn’t make sense. Bin was no body, invited by mistake by his quirky friend Sanha.

Not as big of a mistake as what he did next, though.

The door into Dongmin’s apartment was locked. As in, locking Bin outside. And so, for ten minutes Bin stood there, clutching onto a sushi roll costume, and shivering in his shorts and tank. It was after that ten minutes that he decided climbing in through the open window was his best – and only – option. 

He didn’t plan on it going this way. He didn’t plan on sliding through the window, but getting his foot stuck. And he didn’t plan for the way he fell ungracefully to the kitchen floor with a loud thud, followed by a shrill of glass hitting the same tiles, and smashing to smithereens. Fruit rolled out around him, a banana hitting him on the back of his head.

 _Fuck_.

He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the broken glass around him as he hurried to where he remembers the front door being. The house was empty, and all the lights off. Perhaps Dongmin had left and stayed somewhere else?

Just as he was rounding the corner to the front door, he stopped. There was a series of small, framed photographs on the wall amidst the collection of artwork and party decorations. Dongmin was in all of them, many with Sanha, others with people he didn’t recognise. Dongmin photographer unbearably well, but that wasn’t surprising considering how handsome he was to look at. It would be hard for someone like that to ever look physically _bad._

It was in that exact moment that Bin made a life-changing decision.

Dongmin was his muse (he knew this already) but his muse was moving away from the bank. This meant that he wouldn’t be able to see him anymore, and since they weren’t exactly friends, he had no idea of knowing where he was going to, either. This left Bin with no choice.

He grabbed the photo of Dongmin and Sanha and lifted it from the hook, and had tucked it safely away in the mess of his costume when the light turned on overhead.

_Busted._

He turned around slowly, hesitating to find out his fate. He was preparing for some screaming, maybe, or even some throwing.

Bin should have been worried, but Dongmin was standing there, eyes squinting from the light above, hair messy, and wearing cute pyjamas pants with cats on them, and a baggy sleep-shirt.

“Are you,” he stopped, and Bin noticed the moment his eyes filled with comical disbelief. “Are you trying to _rob_ me?”

Bin chuckled humourlessly. “Who, me?” He scoffed, pointing to himself. “Hah, _no_.”

The boy in front of him – hair so artfully mussed, eyes blearily staring at him – just snorted. “Yeah, alright sushi guy. What’s with the forced entry then?” His eyes flickered behind him to the kitchen, to the broken glass on the floor. “And _why_ did you break my fruit bowl?”

He turned back to Bin, crossing his arms, and trying to authoritative. Bin should apologise and leave and pay him back for the fruit bowl, but Dongmin looked so _cute_ and Bin couldn’t help himself. He had to try extend this further, cover his ass, for one, but take this opportunity to talk to him.

“Moon Bin?” Bin hummed, pulled out of his trance. Dongmin was still staring at him. “Why are you in my house?”

Bin didn’t know how to respond. Did he tell him the truth? Shit, this wasn’t _Bin._ Bin wasn’t a thief. Shit, he was just a boy with an infatuation with the pretty guy from the _bank,_ for Christ’s sake. All he was trying to do was go home, it’s not his fault he had to take a piece of his muse with him.

“Well, you see – it’s a long story?”

Dongmin sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “Fine. But I’m having hot chocolate first.”

 

Minhyuk choked on a mouthful of coffee. “He _what_?”

Bin shrugged. “he asked me if I wanted some hot chocolate.”

Minhyuk stared at him, open-mouthed, in pure disbelief. “What did you say?”

“I said, _yes please_.”

The younger dropped his napkin. “You said _yes?_ ” Bin avoided his eyes. “You broke into his _home_ , and then said _yes_ to hot chocolate.” Minhyuk sunk back into his chair, letting out a rush of air that blew up his fringe before settling back down.

“What happened next, then?”

“He asked if I wanted some cake, too,” he said nonchalantly, taking a long sip of coffee.

“Fuck off,” his best friend said, causing a snort from Bin. “He gave you _cake?_ ” He stared down at his coffee, probably hoping to find answers there, but alas, came up empty. “Was it _nice_ cake?”

“Yeah, it was a baked cheesecake.”

“Nice.” Minhyuk looked deep in thought for a moment. “Where from?”

“Does that matter?”

Minhyuk just glared at him.

“He said he made it himself.”

Minhyuk whistled, shaking his head in wonder at Bin. “You’re _screwed_.”

 

Bin was, in fact, screwed. Minhyuk wasn’t always the most eloquent of people, but he was usually the most _right_. For the rest of the week, all Bin could think about was Dongmin’s sleepy figure standing in the hallway, rubbing at his eyes. His feet patting on the tiles as he pushed Bin into one of the kitchen stools. He turned on the lamp by the microwave, giving the room a warm, honey glow, that suited Dongmin impeccably and made Bin’s stomach flutter at he pottered wordlessly around his kitchen.

He made his hot chocolate the old way, by boiling the milk on the stove top, and melting the chocolate by hand. It took longer than any packet mix would, but when Dongmin handed a steamy mug of it over, Bin knew it was definitely worth the wait.

He expected things to be incredibly awkward, especially considering he hadn’t made himself known at the party, and had unintentionally broken into his house. He didn’t know what to do about the photograph wrapped up in his costume by the front door, he just hoped Dongmin didn’t notice, and later would just assume it was some drunkard at the party who stole it.

But things weren’t awkward. The silence was warm and inviting, like a hug, like freshly baked cookies, the melted chocolate oozing out, like—”

“Do you want some cake?” Dongmin’s voice was gentle even in stark contrast to the silence. He was biting his bottom lip, _so pretty_ , and Bin hadn’t noticed him pull a container out of the fridge.

Bin nodded, “yes please.”

Dongmin lifted the lid and Bin’s stomach howled. It was a baked cheesecake, one of Bin’s favourite things to eat for dessert. Dongmin, sensing his excitement, cut him a generously slice and placed in onto the plate. He pushed the plate closer to him, offering him a spoon or fork. He chose the spoon, taking a mouthful immediately.

He moaned around the spoon, eyes slipping closed. He opened them only after he swallowed, and even in the dull light, he could see the blush that his risen onto Dongmin’s cheeks.

Bin took a moment to note how weird this situation was.

It was five o’clock in the morning, the sun getting ready to rise, and he was sitting in Dongmin’s kitchen eating cake and sipping hot chocolate. And he didn’t even know Dongmin, and he was terrorising him in his own home, and yet he hadn’t called the police. _Why not?_

Bin suddenly feared for Dongmin’s safety. What if he had been a robber? What if it hadn’t been Bin, and Dongmin had been hurt?

“You know,” he said, voicing his concern. “You should be more careful.”

Dongmin coked his head to the side as he took his own mouthful. Bin carefully avoided watching his lips as he did this. “How’s that?”

Bin shrugged, “I mean, I could have been an enemy.”

Dongmin shrugged back. “Do you want more?”

Bin nodded, conversation forgotten.

 

Later, around 6, they were lounging on the floor in Dongmin’s living room. They had finished their second serving of cake in silence, and had flopped down on the carpet exhaustedly when they were done. Dongmin would throw out a random comment about someone’s costume at the party, to which Bin would just laugh at, and watch the way a flush would already curl around the boy’s cheeks when he laughed, too.

_He was so gone for this boy._

His infatuation seemed justified now. He was allowed to have a crush on him, because he knew his name and he’d been offered food and drink, and had even broken into his house. Surely, this mean they were friends, which meant that Minhyuk could no longer tease him for not knowing his crushes name.

“Hey Bin?”

He turned his head on the carpet, facing Dongmin. “Yeah?”

Dongmin shuffled, so he was staring at Bin, too. “What sort of art do you do?” He coughed, clearing his throat. “I mean, I’ve only been into your studio once, and seen in through the windows a few times…but I never really see anything distinctive.”

Bin chuckled. “Yeah. I haven’t had a proper showcase at my studio yet, despite me nearly being there a year. I do most of my sketches and planning out front, where you see in – I do my sculptures out back.”

Dongmin raised his eyebrows. “You _sculpt?_ ”

Bin twinkled his hands at him, “magic fingers.”

Dongmin blushed, “is that _so?_ ”

Bin shrugged, “so I’ve been told.”

“Maybe I could see for myself, one day?” He said it to be cheeky, but also genuine, and Bin chuckled.

“One day. Soon.”

 

It was past 7, and Bin wasn’t sure if they were awake or just dead. It was his turn, though, to break the silence.

“Why are you leaving the bank?”

Dongmin looked past Bin, staring at nothing in particular, lost in his head. “It was never something I really wanted to do. After I graduated high school, I decided to take a break, and worked part-time at the bank for some extra cash…guess I just never left, and I’ve been there since.”

Bin nodded, understanding completely. His sister had done the same thing, and Jin Jin, the barista, had, too. “So where will you go?”

Dongmin tucked his chin, wrapping his arms around himself. Bin noticed that he was shivering slightly, and wanted to pull the soft, delicate boy into his arms, but refrained. “I’m opening up a bakery.”

Now _that_ was not what he was expecting.

“A bakery?” Dongmin nodded. “You _bake?_ ” He nodded again. “Oh, my God, did you make that cheesecake?” Another nod, this time accompanied by a chuckle.

“Dongmin, you are a man after my heart.”

 

At 8, Dongmin was asleep on the floor beside him. Bin wasn’t far off himself, but he felt as though that may be overstepping his boundaries and overstaying his welcome by far too long. As gently as he could, he lifted Dongmin off the floor bridal style. He was snoring softly, his breath hitting the side of Bin’s neck. He shivered, but not from the crisp morning. He walked down the hall, towards where he assumed was his room. He thought briefly this may be too intrusive of him, but he couldn’t bear to leave Dongmin spread out on the carpet like that, knowing full-well he’d have back problems when he woke up.

He tried not to peek too much at his room, but couldn’t resist entirely. It was tidy, but the bed messy, as he had climbed out of it earlier to see who was breaking into his house (Bin, obviously). There was art hanging on the wall, and more photographs, and a floor-length mirror-wardrobe along the back wall. Bin stealthily placed Dongmin back into his bed, pulled a blanket up and over his body.

He hesitated, watching the boy sleep peacefully, lips parted slightly. He was so _soft_ and Bin was so _creepy_ just watching him sleep, but God, Bin felt like he was in _love_.

He wasn’t, he knew he wasn’t, but his body didn’t know that – because before he realised, he had surged forward, and pressed a feather-light kiss to his forehead.

He pulled back, mortified despite Dongmin not even awake to witness it. He hurried from the room, and back down the hall, grabbed his costume and photograph, and slipped out into the early morning.

 

Bin was moping. He was moping, and it was driving Minhyuk crazy. He’d even asked for extra whipped cream for Bin’s brownie but he just swirled it around on his plate like it was nothing. Minhyuk tried not to be offended.

“Bin?”

“Hmmm?”

When he didn’t look up from his plate, he sighed. “What’s the matter? I thought you’d be happy you got to spend so much time with The Banker?”

“Dongmin,” he immediately correct, finally lifting his eyes. Minhyuk raised his eyebrows at him expectantly.

Bin lifted one shoulder, and then let it sag again. “yeah, I mean, it was amazing. _He’s_ amazing.” _Gross._ “But today’s his last day. The last time I get to see him.”

Minhyuk downed the last of his latte. “Who said it has to be the last time?”

“Uh, the fact that I don’t know where the bakery is, or his number, or any reason to see him again?

“Pfft,” Minhyuk said. “You know where he lives. You’ve broken in once, do it again.”

Bin rolled his eyes, considering, but then changed the subject. “So, tell me, what happened with Sanha?

Bin was rewarded with a rare sight of big, gooey-eyed Minhyuk with red-cheeks and excited hands.

 

Despite Minhyuk’s earlier suggestion, Bin didn’t break in again. Instead, he knocked on the front door, like a normal, civilised person, visiting a _friend._ When the door yanked open, Dongmin peered out curiously, but then a look of _forced_ exasperation fell upon his features.

“I’m right in the middle of something right now, so if you’re here to break _new_ fruit bowl, could you come back in maybe, like, 30 minutes?”

Bin sniffed – he recognised that smell, and he was in a state of shock from the flour on Dongmin’s cheeks, to the stray traces of it in his hair, the cute flower apron tied around his torso. “Are you making scones?”

Dongmin drew his head back. “Maybe”

Bin smiled, barging past him and through the door.

 

He was sitting at the kitchen bench, just as he had done earlier, but this time he watched Dongmin prepare the dough on the tray for the oven. Every now and then, Dongmin would glance up at him, see the younger boy biting his lip and staring at him, and would quickly look away with fumbling hands. He finished the preparation in silence, sliding the tray into the oven and pulling off his gloves. He turned towards Bin, mouth open, ready to speak, but was interrupted by Bin’s phone ringing.

Eyes apologetic, Bin pulled his phone from his jacket pocket, followed by the sound of metal hitting the tiles below. Bin knew what it was the instant it hit the floor. It was his carving knife. When he’d left the studio to come to Dongmin’s – unannounced, of course – he’d just grabbed his coat off the hook. He never bothered to check his pockets, and it was never surprising to find a knife or two tucked away. Dongmin, however, wouldn’t know that.

“Is that,” he stopped, glancing downwards, as if to reaffirm his suspicions. “Did you come here to _stab_ me?”

Bin clambered off the stool, “ _no!_ I’d _never!”_ He snatched up his carving knife from the tiles. Dongmin gestured wildly with his eyes, looking from Bin’s face to the knife in his hand, then back to his face again. Bin gestured back, but stopped halfway, realising he was dangerously waving around a blade in his crushes face. Bin wondered for a moment how his life had come to this. A few weeks ago, he was watching Dongmin from a distance, not even knowing his name, and now here was, waving a knife in his face.

“Shit,” he said. “Dongmin, no.” He tucked the knife away into his jacket again, zipping the pocket up. “It’s one of my carving knives. I came straight from the studio to here, and we artists are renowned for out tidiness.”

Dongmin’s eyes calmed down, and he eased off. “Sorry.”

He was blushing, and Bin noted for the twenty thousandth time how beautiful he was. “I was thinking, maybe you’d like to come by the studio soon? Come check out of my latest project?”

Dongmin smiled, “how’s Wednesday?”

 

Bin wasn’t thinking clearly. He wasn’t. That’s why he invited him. He hadn’t even shown _Minhyuk_ the progress he’d made on his newest sculpture, let along _Dongmin,_ who just so happened to be the inspiration _behind_ it. Christ, he was so going to hell.

If Minhyuk were here right now, witnessing this, he’d shake his head in shame. He’d say he was embarrassed to be associated with him, and that he never wanted to speak to him again. Of course, he’d come back two hours later, talking about Sanha’s soft lips, and how pretty he is, but how he can’t be with him (“Why not?” “Because he’s so _innocent._ He deserves something serious.” “And you can’t be serious?” “Of course, not.”). If Bin thought he was horrible to be around while pining for Dongmin, then Minhyuk is no doubt worse.

When Wednesday had rolled around, Bin had no excuse, no way of getting around showing him. He just hoped that it wasn’t too obvious. Maybe he was overthinking it, and Dongmin wouldn’t see the way it resembled him. Perhaps the stages were too early for that sort of thing, but Dongmin’s artist eyes could clearly pick it up.

There was knock on his door, and when Bin pulled it open, he nearly cooed. Dongmin was wearing a lilac sweater, so large on him he had actual sweater paws, and it hung loosely over his black jeans. He looked so gentle and soft and _small_ , despite being taller than he was, and Bin had to refrain from hugging him.

“Hi,” Dongmin breathed out.

“Hi.”

Bin stepped aside, letting Dongmin enter. It was only the second time he had been inside, but Bin liked how he looked there, more beautiful than the art itself, more beautiful than he could ever make it. “Can I get you anything?” Dongmin shook his head, blushy and soft. Bin couldn’t resist, he _couldn’t_. “You look so cute.”

Dongmin looked taken aback, and his already red-cheeks got redder, and Bin felt a little proud that he was able to make the handsome man blush so deeply. “Th-thank you, Bin. You always look cute.”

It was Bin’s turn to be taken aback, and to turn beetroot-red in the face and neck. He didn’t reply, just ducked his chin, and latched onto Dongmin’s wrist. He guided him to the back of the studio’s main room, pushed across the rickety wooden sliding door, and allowed him to go through first.

The room out back was very similar in size to the one in the front, although back here, it was more cramped – there was more drop sheets and clay mounds and carving tables and pedestals. Even so, it would have been impossible to miss the larger-than-life-size clay sculpture in the middle of the room.

It had taken him a long time – though to be fair, he hadn’t achieved close to what he could have he hadn’t been so preoccupied by the beautiful boy in general. The silhouette of the body had yet to be completely shaped and carved, but the upper torso and head were finished. Dongmin either had nothing to say or was speechless, because he stood there, looking rather dumbfounded, and didn’t say a word.

For the next twenty minutes, Bin leaned against the wall and watched the boy examine the piece. He gingerly reached out to touch the clay, surprised at its texture, before tucking his hands into his pockets. His eyes followed the movements of his knife that made, looking at the spread of the shoulders, the curve of the nose and chin, the pout of the lips. Bin admired his intensity, the way Dongmin would lean in real close, and gasp slightly, and his eyes would widen in wonder.

Bin was proud of his work, but this piece, he decided, had to be as perfect as this moment was.

 

After that, Dongmin slipped into Bin’s routine like he had always belonged there. He would stop by the studio after he had closed up the bakery, knowing Bin would always stay there till late. Bin resided in a complex building a few streets back, within walking distance, though would usually find himself sleeping at his workbench. Dongmin would bring hot chocolate and leftover treats from the store that day, and would knock on the door out front and wait patiently for Bin to hurry from out back to let him in. They’d drink their hot chocolates and eat their cakes in silence, finding comfort there, familiarly, and would only breaking it for the odd comment – usually Bin admiring the quality of the baking.

Afterwards, Bin would insist on walking Dongmin home, despite it being in the opposite direction, before heading back to his own apartment. Those nights that it got particularly late, Dongmin wouldn’t sleep until Bin sent him a _I’m home safe <3 _text.

Dongmin had also slipped into Minhyuk’s routine, too. They got on well, their personalities often clashing but in ways that were harmless and full of banter. Over time, Dongmin became more and more comfortable around Minhyuk, and every time Bin would see them interact, his heart would swell so much for him.

This crush, you see, it had exploded in his chest. It was once a small infatuation with the pretty boy in the bank, but now he couldn’t deny it any longer. _He was so in love with him_. The boy who grasped his dream with both hands, who took the chance and got it – who is funny and is kind and is everything Bin knew he’d be. Dongmin was one of his best friends – he only had Minhyuk before him, but still, now he had two incredible people in his life. And Christ, he’d give up anything for him, to see him smile. He’d give up his dream if it meant Dongmin always got to keep making his.

It was three months into this same routine, that when Dongmin turned up late one night with his usual order of hot chocolate and cake, that Bin realised it was time for a change. When he rented the studio, he was given two keys. One for him, and a spare. The spare belongs with Minhyuk, because he’s here almost as much as Bin himself, and it saves Bin having to get up and unlock it. But Bin got another one cut, maybe two weeks ago, when Dongmin had to call Bin to come let him in as he’d fallen asleep at his bench out back again.

Bin let him in, as usual, and led him out back. He’d invested in a couch for out back, because Minhyuk kept complaining, and Bin wanted somewhere nice for Dongmin to sit that wasn’t one his dirty work stools. Dongmin sunk down into straight away, kicking off his shoes and tugging his legs up under him. He looked so comfortable, like he _belonged,_ and Bin had to bite his tongue to stop himself whining.

He sat down beside him, grabbing Dongmin’s legs and twisting his body, so that he could sprawl them out onto his lap. Bin rubbed his feet, Dongmin sighing and closing his eyes. Bin always did this, as a thank you. Dongmin worked on his feet all day, managing the bakery with barely any help. He was up early and home late, and yet still made time to visit him, to make sure he was eating and still alive. Dongmin moaned when Bin rubbed out a particular part of his foot, and Bin had a hard time separating the noise from the part of his brain which told his dick to wake up.

“Hard day?” His brain was failing, it seemed.

Dongmin moaned again, “yeah. Very busy.” He let out a sigh. “Glad to be home.”

Bin froze, and saw the moment Dongmin realised what he had said. _Glad to be home_. But he wasn’t home. He was in Bin’s studio, on his couch. Did Dongmin spend some much time here he saw it as his home, or was it Bin himself? Bin hated being hopeful, because he was easily crushed and he’d been crushed before, and even though it would be an hour to be crushed by this man, he wasn’t sure his heart could take it.

Dongmin went to speak, but Bin saw this as his opening, yanking hand into his pocket and pulling out the spare key for the studio.

“Bin, I—” 

He thrust the key into Dongmin’s face, stopping him midsentence. Dongmin’s eyes narrowed in on the key, body deflating, eyes and mouth softening and falling slack. “Is that?”

Bin nodded. “A key to the studio.” He stopped, hesitating. “This is your home as much as it is mine. You should be able to come and go as you please.”

Dongmin surged forward, wrapping his arms around him, and let out an excited yelp. It made his stomach flutter, but he hugged back, desperately clutching at the boy, as if he would disappear like smoke into the air.

 

Dongmin, at first, still knocked. Bin would get up and open it, then scold him for not using the key. Eventually, when Dongmin knocked, Bin would refuse to get up and let him in, forcing Dongmin to use the key. From that moment on, Dongmin never bothered knocking.

One morning, Bin had arrived later to the studio than normal. He rummaged through his bag for his keys, only to find it already unlocked when he pushed the key in. Bin wasn’t immediately concerned, knowing it could only be Dongmin or Minhyuk, but since Minhyuk was away on a dance trip, that only left Dongmin. And that was fine – Dongmin had been here without him before on numerous occasions. Bin usually had nothing to hide, except this time, he _did_.

He quickly dropped his bag by the desk, and scurried into the back room. Dongmin wasn’t on the couch, or by the workbench, which meant he could only be in either the bathroom or the supply room. But the bathroom was vacant, and the supply room door was open.

_Shit._

A week ago, Bin had completed two out of three of his sculpture centre piece. For his first showcase, at a venue he had hired further in the city to be held in six months’ time, he would have his favourite smaller pieces, some sketches done by hand of the planning process of which he found favourable, and then _this_ piece in the centre. His most favourite piece. It would be three separate sculptures, all of Dongmin himself, in three different stages of knowing him.

And currently, Dongmin was staring at two of them.

He hadn’t heard him come in, and Bin watched Dongmin trace down the nose on the face that was very clearly his. He taped gently at the eye, ran his finger along the eyebrow, the line of his lips. Then he looked at the second one, the face the exact same, but the eyes different, softer, sleepier.

Bin watched on until he saw Dongmin’s hands drop, and he saw the moment Dongmin registered he was no longer alone.

“The first one, on the left,” Bin said, breaking the silence. There was always this silence around the two of them, but it was comfortable. This silence, although comfortable, felt tense. Like it was either going to make them or break them. “That’s who I knew you as, before I knew you. That’s you _before.”_ He touched the lapel of the suit jacket he had carved into the first statue. “Does it look familiar?” He doesn’t look at Dongmin, but he can feel his eyes.

“It’s my bank uniform,” his voice was small, wavering.

Bin continued. “I knew you as The Banker. The pretty guy who had the most beautiful smile I had ever seen, who occasionally got his coffee from next door, who made my stomach churn just by existing.”

Bin turned his attention to the next one. “This is you, _middle._ This is how I knew you in the middle. Does it look familiar?”

There was a moment where Bin thought maybe Dongmin hadn’t heard him, but then his voice piped up, shaking and a whisper. “The night you broke into my house. Those we the pyjamas I wore. The cat ones.” Bin nodded, biting his lip, worrying it between his teeth.

Dongmin spoke again, a little louder this time. “What do you mean by _middle_?”

Bin’s fingers traced the outline of Dongmin’s lips on the second statue, just like the living and breathing Dongmin had done. When Bin spoke, it was said with as much honestly and love he could muster without fear, without breaking down into wretched sobs at the idea of losing him. “This one,” he pointed to the _Before_ sculpture. “This was before I was in love with you. When I was in love with the image of you, and the idea of who you were.” Bin didn’t dare to meet his eyes yet. “This one, _middle._ This is you when I was already in the middle of being in love with you.” Bin felt his eyes soften at the memory of lying on Dongmin’s living room floor, staying up to eight am, to talk about the meaningless things in life. “I fell in love with you so quickly. It happened in a few hours. I knew, at that moment, when I carried you to your bed that night, that I would never feel this way for anyone else again.”

It was then that Bin turned to face Dongmin.

He was crying – not loud tears, but his eyes were overly watery, and a few stray tears had slipped down his cheeks. He frantically wiped them away with the sleeves of his sweater, then settled his eyes on Bin’s with a sniff. Bin felt his own eyes water at the sight of him, so beautiful and smart, inside and out, and Bin hated how corny he was but it couldn’t be avoided, not around Dongmin, not anymore. 

Dongmin glanced past Bin’s shoulder, out into the workroom, where a third statue was almost complete and ready for the finer details. “And what about that one?”

Bin didn’t follow his gaze, just kept staring at Dongmin, watching the light flicker in his eyes, his teeth nibble at his bottom lip. “It’s called _End._ ”

Dongmin drew his eyes back to Bin’s slowly, then reached his hand out to his face. He traced a slow, careful line from the top of his hairline, down his temple, past his eyes, before cupping his cheek in his palm. He did the same on the other side, too, and by the time Dongmin pressed his lips against his, his eyes were held tightly shut.

Their kiss tastes like salt and was wet from tears, but was everything Bin had wanted. Bin would whisper _I love you_ every time they moved, every time there was the slightest part between their mouths. Dongmin would just clutch at him tighter whenever he said it, kiss him deeper and harder. Bin had been pressed against the shelving, Dongmin flat against him. One hand was still cupping his cheek, the other around his back. Bin’s hands shifted from his waist to the back of his neck, holding him there, like he feared he’d disappear, like he’d been a dream the entire time.

When they pulled away, it could have been eons later – they could have been in different worlds, a different generation, but it didn’t matter, because with Dongmin, Bin realised time didn’t matter. Time held no meaning because Dongmin meant _more._ Bin whispered one more “ _I love you”_ against his lips, placed a feather-light kiss to Dongmin’s neck, over his jugular, felt the vibrations of the heart he loved so much against his lips. Dongmin reached back out to him, for his arms, for his soul, and whispered the words right back to him, breathed them straight into his lungs, where they would remain forever.

 

Six months later, and Minhyuk was still dancing around the idea of Yoon Sanha. They had grown closer – from the party, where they had their first kiss, to the dates that came afterwards on Sanha’s request. Minhyuk had obliged, because his heart pushed him too, and his brain didn’t function around the blonde. But Minhyuk knew these things would never last, not with a heart as cold as his. He remembers the look of total dismay on Sanha’s face the day he said he wasn’t interested in anything serious, the day he had to tell Sanha that their relationship had never been _serious._ His heart had begged him not too, but his heart was made of stone, and Sanha deserved sunshine and candyfloss, not grazed knees and grit in his wounds.

That was then, and now, in a dimly lit studio in the city, Minhyuk has seen Sanha again. Four months ago, he ended whatever it was he had with Sanha, and not a day had gone by that he hadn’t thought of him. He looked different – his hair no longer blonde, but a dark, chocolate brown. He looked older, like he had seen the world for its real self, and Minhyuk felt sick to his stomach at the idea that he had been responsible.

Their eyes met, and he saw Sanha freeze, his mouth part in dry agony. Minhyuk swallowed his pride, downed the remains of his drink, and headed over to the brightest light in the room. It felt like it took forever to get to him, and maybe it did, but it didn’t matter, because the moment he was up close to him again, looking up at his beautiful boyish face, nothing else mattered. This was the boy he loved, the boy he knew he’d hurt right from the beginning. He didn’t even know he was capable of loving again, not after the first time, his first love – not after his parents, the most powerful love, he had thought, slipped right away before him.

They didn’t speak at first, for a long time, at least. Sanha’s eyes were welling up, and with the way the image of him blurred in his own eyes, he assumed he was starting to cry, too. If Bin saw him now, he’d never believe him, but he was off playing Host, showing off his works, drowning in pride. They didn’t speak, but that doesn’t mean words weren’t said. Words were said in the way Minhyuk reached for Sanha’s hand, and the way Sanha let him. The way Sanha’s eyes cleared, and asked him _why?_ and _what do you want_? The way Minhyuk let his heart clench around nothing and everything at the same time, building and collapsing at the very same instant.

He finally, finally, let the words form from his tongue. “Yoon Sanha, I am so sorry.” It was pathetic. A poor choice of words. The first words after everything had turned to dust before them, at his hand. He had lit and thrown the match to something that was thin paper.

But _Christ,_ it was the most beautiful paper he’d ever beheld – he’d never wanted to save something so much in his life. And _Shit,_ good things can still come from ashes, he’s so sure of it. They could rise up out of it, like a phoenix, and live another day.

“Yoon Sanha,” he said again. “I am _so_ in love with you.”

He heard Sanha sob, and he felt him collapse down into him. No more words were said, just a kiss from Sanha, on his jugular. He wasn’t sure if Sanha felt a pulse there or not, but in that moment, he was so sure, _so sure,_ that Sanha could make his heart of stone beat again. 

 

At that same moment, Bin reached out to Dongmin. He was staring at one of his smaller, earlier creations, way back when they knew each other only from glances across the street and over takeaway coffee cups. Dongmin turned to face him, curling into Bin’s arms further. Bin tightened his hold on his boyfriend’s waist, kissing his temple, his ear, the corner of his mouth.

Bin would never think that this would be happening to him. His first showcase, _sold out_ , with lines out the door for people wanting to see his works. For interviews and professional photographers to museum curators to art connoisseurs, all for him, for the world he created around Dongmin himself.

After Bin had confessed, they had never needed words to say what they were. They were together, and it was as simple as that. Nothing really changed.

Dongmin would go to work early in the morning to the bakery, and would return to the studio late at night. He’d come baring hot chocolate and leftover treats, and he’d use his own key to head inside. He’d listen to the soft, twinkly music play as Bin carved and worked and sketched, occasionally bending down to kiss him into the couch, play with the skin underneath his shirt. And for six whole months, things were perfect, flawed, yes, but _perfect._ And it was exactly everything Bin had dreamed for.

Bin started to guide Dongmin by the waist, towards the centrepiece. He hadn’t allowed Dongmin to view it yet, saying to leave the best till last. (“I’ve already seen most of it, can’t I just see it now” “No, wait. It’ll be worth it.”).

He leant down, whispered in his ear. “Close your eyes.” He felt Dongmin shiver, but his eyes slipped close, an eager smirk on his lips. He led him so he stood right in front of the three sculptures - two that he knew well already, one he had yet to see. Bin took a deep breath in, composing himself. Dongmin loved him, he knew this, but the thought of this final piece still terrified him. It was his _art,_ his strongest and most meaningful method of communication. The utmost way for him to express his love.

But he could wait no longer. “Open your eyes.”

Dongmin fluttered them open slowly, as if preparing himself for the sight before him. They flickered to the left instantly, to _before_ – smiling as he took in the image of himself in his old suit, a life of unhappiness he had been confined to for far longer than he had intended. Then they shifted to the second, _the middle,_ the pyjamas, and he chuckled, watery-eyed, as he recalled both the real-life moment this captured, and the moment Bin had told him what it meant.

Then they shifted to the right, to _end._

Bin saw it. And what he saw was nothing. There was no recognition in Dongmin’s eyes, just both confusion and residue tears. Normally, that would be a horrifying sight for Bin, but right now, it made sense.

“The third one, Bin. _End._ It’s not finished?” Dongmin turned to look at him, wonder and amazement and awe and confusion, all swirling into one.

Bin smiled, “yeah, it’s not. And it never will be.”

“Why not?”

Bin swallowed. “Do you remember, when I explained these first you to? What the _before_ and _middle_ meant?”

Dongmin nodded, “before you loved me, or, before you loved this _middle_ me.”

“Exactly. And this is the end. So, it will always remain unfinished.”

Dongmin looked at him, half aware of what he was saying, but needing that final push.

“It will always remain unfinished, because my love for you will never end.”

 

“I can’t believe you actually love this guy. He broke into your house.”

“That was like, two years ago Minhyuk. You need to get over that.”

“Never – literally, never.”

“I didn’t even _steal_ anything!”

Dongmin coughed, butting in. “You did, actually.”

Minhyuk and Bin turned to stare at him, expressions puzzled. “You did steal something from me Bin, that night you came.” Bin swallowed. He was yet to tell him about the photograph he stole. Dongmin had never mentioned it, and he was so sure he’d never seen it at his studio. But maybe?

Dongmin shrugged, pressed a kiss to his cheek, his jaw. “You stole my heart.” Bin blushed, tucked his chin, immediately kissing him. Minhyuk gagged on his coffee, slipped his feet back into his shoes, and headed out the shop. He pulled his phone from his pocket, and quickly composed a text message to Dongmin, telling him to ‘ _ask bin about the photo of u and sanha he stole’_ before he made a quick phone call.

They answered on the third ring. “Hey, are you home right now?” They said yes, and he slid phone into his pocket.

 _It’s time I go steal a heart of my own,_ Minhyuk thinks, as he heads in the direction of Sanha’s apartment.

**Author's Note:**

> .........what didu think???? i think i need to work on my character development more, bc i find my characters are unlikeable sometimes? idk. let me know what ur thoughts are! im on tumblr as magnusbanes


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